


Heart of Darkness

by lucius_complex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Other, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucius_complex/pseuds/lucius_complex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry looks for Snape’s hiding place. It’s not a very nice place.  In fact, it’s not a place at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

1

 

You open your eyes and look around.

You find yourself standing on a checkerboard floor, ankle deep in water. You can see quite clearly for several feet around you, but everything beyond is darkness, the black, vacant spaces of Snape’s imagination, not yet formed.

You pick a random direction and start walking. More of the checkerboard floor continues to form around you, sloshing water. They soak up your trousers. The space behind you disappears into darkness, with no way to tell if it continues to exist.

You find yourself walking for an interminable period, for the light is supernatural and there is no way to tell the time. There is a hollow, watchful feeling about the space. A distinct sense of emptiness tickles at you as you move further forward. The light seems to moves in your direction, coming from neither lamp nor sun.

There is no sign of Snape.

Something brushes against your leg. You look down and pick up an autumn leaf. Another one floats by, its veins still green with dying chlorophyll. You peer in the direction it came from; and see nothing.

 

They come in profusion after that, floating like a pageantry of tiny ships, and you follow. The variegated splotches of color bloom red and virulent against the checker-board lake, barely visible now againts the murky green-brown hues of the shallow lake you find yourself sloshing through. Here and there you notice the leaves floating past beginning to turn black with rot.

More and more of the black leaves appeared; some of them carried through the air by the first stirring of wind which quickly becomes gale-like, whipping your clothes back. You fold your elbow against your face to cover you mouth and nose against the flying leaves and continue walking.

The river of leaves lead you to a large, ancient tree, beautiful and dying. Under the tree a boy of ten or eleven stands before a small bonfire. He is tall for his age, and clothed in inky rags barely adequate against the unrelenting wind. You watch him collect the leaves around him and throw them into the fire. It’s an impossible task, as each time he clears a spot, the tree would drop more leaves upon him.

You walk up to the boy, blinking against the wind. Up close, you notice that the fire floats upon the water, rocking gently like a buoy. The child however, is as wet as you, and his lips are blue with cold.

‘Hello,’ you say softly, ‘my name’s Harry.’

The child peers at you through dark strands of long, whipping hair.

‘Why?’

‘Because that’s my name. Harry Potter. I’m here to help you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I wanted to. Also, the line of candidates was rather short.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I have a saving people thing.’

The little boy considers this for a moment. ‘Why?’

You shrug. ‘I’m not sure myself; maybe deep down, everyone has a saving-people thing. Maybe you have it too.’

The child Severus shakes his head. His face, what little you can see of it, is expressionless. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘Neither should you,’ you point out gently. ‘Why are you burning these leaves?’

Severus discards more black leafs from the pile he was about to drop into the fire, letting the wind tear them away from his blue fingers. ‘He only likes the black ones.’

‘I like the red ones,’ you say idly. ‘What about you?

‘Red,’ he shrugs.

‘Well then,’ you announce somberly, ‘I guess two is a bigger number than one, so we win. That means we get to decide. That means we get to change the rules.’

‘Why would we do that?’

You can’t help but smile at this beautiful child. ‘Because we prefer the red.’

The boy is about to burn another scarlet leaf, but he draws it back from the fire just as the tip touched the flames. He twirls the leaf around, observing the singed outer edge eating slowly into the orange heart. Your smile fades a little as you both watch the leaf turn black before Severus releases it to the wind, to join the others. His eleven year old eyes are grave.

‘The Dark Lord prefers _black_.’

‘But you’re not the Dark Lord,’ you tell him, squatting down beside the floating fire. Your hands pet the watery surroundings for a black leaf and holds up.

‘Your name is Severus, and you prefer red.’

You throw the ebony leaf into the flames, and the both of you watch it curl and wither into ash. ‘Hmmm. Burns just well as the red, from the looks of it,’ you say nonchalantly.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Severus whispers again.

‘But I am,’ you smile. ‘I’m going to help you.’

‘Because you have a helping people thing,’ the child stares into the flames before raising his head to gaze thoughtfully at the dying tree above him. ‘Am I sick?’

Your eyes follow his gaze. ‘Yes. You’re in St Mungos. The doctors are trying to heal you, but they can’t reach your mind.’ You let that sink in for a while before adding very deliberately, ‘I think the tree should _live.’_

Severus exhales. ‘The Dark Lord prefers black.’

You decide to get comfortable, or as comfortable as one could get in a puddle of water and leaves. Clearly you will be here for some time.

The healers tasked with keeping your body alive will not be pleased.

‘True. But this isn’t the Dark Lord’s mind. The Dark Lord has his own mind, which is no more.’ You wait again for a few moments. ‘I killed him, you know. He left a big mess. Did you see?’

The little boy taps his own head. ‘He lives here.’

‘Then I’ll just have to kill him again,’ you say blandly. ‘Black is boring. We should have more red.’

 

*

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Heart of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry looks for Snape’s hiding place. It’s not a very nice place. In fact, it’s not a place at all.

 

 

2             

 

After a while, you leave the dying tree, shedding its half-withered leaves like tears upon the water.

 

You gaze at the child hanging onto your left hand and debate asking Healer Smethwck if he is one of the safe ones who may be prevailed upon to be your guide. Smethwck had stressed many times that your survival in Snape’s mind would largely depend on your ability to insinuate yourself to a sympathetic character, seeing as the rules of a dream realm would follow no established principles for physics or magic.

 

Your young guide seems content to follow rather than lead however, so you continue your aimless walk. The water disappears along with the checkerboard floor, turning into a blackened field strewn with half burnt leaves. The air is clean and cool.

 

You take out a small parchment and unroll it. Pursing your lips, you dig around for a pen and write:

****

**_I found a child. Is it safe to bring him along?_ **

 

You roll up the parchment and put it back into your pocket.

 

‘It’s not safe,’ Severus tells you, his eyes staring straight ahead as he walks.

 

You suppress the urge to stare at the boy and force yourself to continue walking in the same slow, deliberate pace. ‘Not safe for us? Or not safe for the Dark Lord?’

 

‘Not safe for Severus Snape,’ the child says in a matter of fact voice, prompting you to look sharply at him.

 

‘Why? The Dark Lord is dead. What threat remains?’

 

‘The Dark Lord does not like to speak of death. He lives…‘ The little boy taps his own head again.

 

You stop walking and gently cup the small, pale chin in your hand. ‘If there is a horcrux here, Severus, I must find it.’

 

The child’s dark eyes clouds over. ‘What’s a hor-crux?’

 

‘It’s a secret. It can be a secret item, like a diary or a locket. Sometimes, it can even be a secret person. Will you help me find it?’

 

‘Nobody tells me any secrets.’

 

‘That’s ok. Maybe you’ll remember something you’ve seen.’ You pet the unruly mop of hair, but the child suddenly flinches and moves away from you.

 

‘What’s wrong?’

 

You inhale sharply as you see dark welts suddenly forming on the exposed areas of the boy’s pale skin. They bloom like purple flowers blotched with green, vanish beneath his skin, and then bloom again- spreading all over his hands and face. Cuts appear and disappear, his lips tear and heal. You scramble for your wand, only to find your pockets full of blackened leaves instead.

 

‘Severus, I need my wand. I need my wand to help you.’

 

Blood begin to pour out of the child’s nose. You sit him on the ground and try to steam the scarlet stream with your sleeves.

 

‘Severus, give me my wand.’ You dig into your pockets again, but it remains empty.

 

 _‘Severus!_ ’ you yelled to the wind. ‘My wand!’

 

You heard a scream and a crack, and see with despair that the boy’s wrists had broken. Desperate, you crawl on hands and knees, scrabbling through the grass and leafs until you finally spot your wand lying a few feet away. You stumble forward to grab it, almost gasping in relief as your fingers curl around its magical core- still working.

 

You run back to the child, but find instead a young man lying on the ground. His eyes are closed and his skin is pale, unmarked ivory, framed by wreaths of long, dark hair.

 

You drop to his knees in relief. ‘Thank Merlin, you’re safe.’

 

As you recover your breath you take in the new adult that Severus has become. Perhaps sixth year or slightly after; slender, colourless, and rather beautiful in repose. His lips are slightly parted, as if his dreams are sweet.

 

You smile a little at the vision before you, for Snape had not been a beautiful youth.  

 

‘Severus?’

 

Then the young man opens his eyes, as red as beetroots, as red as blood.

 

*

 

‘Hello,’ you say, ‘I’m glad you’ve healed up nicely.’

 

The young man sits up and gingerly examines his wrist, but the voice though husky, is undeniably female.

 

‘He’s very talented in his madness. One might say it far surpasses his sane exploits.’

 

‘He’s very talented,’ you agree, eyeing the beautiful girl; who had a very languid air about her. ‘Are you here to help me or hinder me?’

 

The red eyes glint with amusement. ‘Do you have a preference?’

 

You haul yourself up and offer your hand to Severus. ‘In the real world, you are twenty-four hours from being trialed as a Death Eater and given the Dementor’s kiss.’

 

She does not look perturbed by the news. ‘If there _is_ a horcrux in my head, my death should take care of it rather satisfactorily, don’t you think?’

 

‘Surely you don’t want to die,’ you point out in your most reasonably voice, ‘-after all that work.’

 

‘Surely I don’t mean that much to you, either way.’

 

‘Like I said, I have a saving people thing.’

 

‘Hmmm,’ is all Severus says, although her smile is knowing. You are the first to slide your eyes away.

 

‘You mentioned… a Dark Lord.’

 

‘Harmless,’ the female Severus waves a negligent hand, ‘and the least of your worries.’

 

‘The little one didn’t seem to think so,’ you point out.

 

‘The little one is easily frightened. Like all children, he fears the shadows and prefers to do as he’s told.’

 

‘And you?’

 

A husky laughter escapes her lips, and her ruby eyes are coy behind their dark curtain. She is, you realize, really quite beautiful.

 

‘You should check your pockets,’ she tells you.

 

You draw the parchment out again and open it.

 

**_It’s a trap. Turn back now, we can still extract you._ **

****

Your eyes flicker from the note to find the girl watching you, her lips a red, wet curve.

 

‘You were never any good at following instructions.’

 

Ruefully you shake your head. ‘Like I said, I have a people-saving thing.’

 

‘Where angels fear to tread,’ thrills Severus.

 

‘You’re very sardonic,’ you tell her. ‘I much preferred the boy.’

 

The female Severus laughs. ‘So do I.’

 

*

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

3

 

 ** _I have found a guide_** , you write, silently adding to yourself, _albeit a very distracting one._

It is she who takes your hand and walks you through a dreamscape of swirling fire-lakes and ice-crusted caves, jumping fearlessly over the crumbled bones of skeletal bridges and skittering, free-falling rocks. When she laughs, with her head and shoulders thrown back, you find your eyes frequently straying to her chest, flickering to her wet lips and onto her too-knowing eyes.

 

She laughs at you, often.

 

‘My white knight,’ her too-old eyes latches on to you as she licks her red, wet lips. ‘So soft-spoken. So shy. Would you like to feel me up?’

 

Somehow you find your hands on her breast and your mouth tracing a line from her jawline to the beating hollow of her pale, pale neck. She makes sounds, such sounds in your ears as makes you wonder if perhaps you are both in your own head instead; and perhaps it is you who is mad.

 

She licks her lips and leans forward. ‘I could ride you like a horse,’ she whispers into your heated ears. ‘And all you have to do is _want_ me to.’

 

You nod. You are mute with desire, parched with sudden thirst as she pulls you up and presses her body against you. ‘Come.’

 

Meekly you follow her through the door that suddenly appears- a door of iron, studded with cruel, blackened hooks. There is an urgent weight in your pocket which you brush away. Its summons was of no consequence. It could wait.

 

She leads you past a foyer with a small pond of dark water in the center, and up an intricate stairwell. Your gaze follows the scarlet dripping upwards and see that in place of a grand chandelier; a complicated string of beating hearts, hung on black hooks. There’s a sleepy cadence to the rhythmic beating hearts and the soft patter of blood dropping into the pool, like a Japanese musical fountain. You feel your eyelids grow heavy by the ebony banister, listening to its unknown whispers.

 

‘Not yet,’ the female Severus say softly, and take both your hands in her flawless white ones. You tear your eyes away from the glistening mobile, and move reluctantly on.

 

*

 

The heady scent of incense, its snake-like coils undulating from the ceiling. The ripple of red beads as the curtain parts. The unicorn horn goblet with its lightly spiced tonics. Her silken thighs, cool to the touch, eyelids heavy and rolling. Her entire body is a flexing, serpentine musculature.

 

‘How badly do you want me, Harry?’

 

Her fingernails, sharp and delicate on your chest; tears out a groan but no answer. Her eyes are red crystals in the dark as she purrs, ‘Tell me that you want to stay. You can stay forever, with me.’

 

You place your hands on her hips and close your eyes. You remain mute.

 

*

 

You see the child Severus tip-toeing to you, looking around nervously for his female counterpart’s return.

 

He speaks in Parsletongue. ‘She has you in thrall.’

 

You nod hazily, although you can barely understand what you’re agreeing to. ‘Yes. Yes.’

 

The young boy touches a finger to his lips to indicate silence, and motions for you to rise. ‘The Red Queen does not understand Parsletongue,’ he hisses. ‘We must escape, now.’

 

You frown. ‘The Red-‘

 

Child Severus takes your hand. ‘Speak only Parsletongue. We must hide.’

 

You nod dumbly and allow yourself to be lead. The boy urges you down the curling banister. You look up to see red droplets of blood running faster; falling insistently into a violent and discordant harmony. Whispering rhythms of the hook-suspended hearts beat faster and faster in your ears the further you descend.

 

You stumble on a step, almost overpowered by the beating noise that echoes your heartbeat.

 

Severus tugs on your arm. He seems unaffected by the palpitating noises, looking frequently back towards the red chambers that the pair of you had just vacated.

 

 _‘I can’t,_ ’ you gasps finally, too dizzy to move. ‘I need to sit.’

 

‘You can’t sit, we can’t stay here,’ Severus insists, and glances behind him again. ‘She’s coming.’

 

You look down, at the blood that is suddenly seeping through your pants. A steady trickle runs down the stairs, a dark, sinister stain upon the white marble. A gurgling noise make you both look down onto the foyer below, where the fountain is overflowing, splashing dark red puddles on the floor.

 

‘Get up,’ Severus said, tugging you up. ‘Let’s go.’

 

You make your way down the now slippery stairs, the child’s tiny body supporting your much larger frame. The metallic stink of blood soak up your calves, clogs your nostrils, drips on your face.  

 

Severus looks apprehensively at the six corridors in front of them. ‘I don’t know which one to take.’

 

‘Which one did you use?’

 

‘They weren’t there earlier.’

 

Unable to stand, you sink to his knees and place your hands on your ears to block out the sound. ‘Just pick one.’

 

‘I don’t know!!’ Severus shouts, tears glinting in his dark eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

 

‘Severus,’ you slur, close to swooning. ‘The decision.. doesn’t matter. Only that you make one.’ But the child is paralyzed with fear and indecision, tears running down his face.

 

‘Severus, _choose.’_

 

The entire ceiling rains with blood, the pool sloshing past the boy’s waist. You feel your eyes roll involuntarily as you slide into the warm, waiting pool bellow, barely cognizant of a shrill scream of denial, and of being dragged, inch by inch…

 

You lose consciousness.

 

*


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

4

 

The room you wake up in is no red chamber.

 

Instead, there is peeling wallpaper in a sickly olive shade, a spindly stool with no back that went with the ink-stained table, and grey threadbare sheets. There is no closet, only a few crates stacked together out of which you see some greying shirtsleeves sticking out. The only truly clean thing in the room is a small nightstand which has been converted into a bookshelf.

 

It is a non-descript room, a room for a ghost.

 

Something flutters to the ground beside the bed: a photo. You pick it up and examine the sepia hues, barely making out your mother and Snape as young children. As you watch, black rims grow around Lily’s eyes, her hair shortens, and she turns into a child version of you.

 

Your hand is clasped around Snape’s.

 

‘Hmm,’ you muse aloud to the empty air. ‘I really looked like a little runt back in the day.’

 

You place the photograph gently on the table and walk out of the room and find yourself in a dingy kitchenette. You are slightly relieved to see Child Severus look up. 

 

‘So. Is this where you grew up?’

 

The small boy bends his head to his task and does not answer. He is cooking some sort of oat paste on an electric induction cooker; there is no stove.

 

Perhaps his family had been leery of fire hazards around the small, independent boy.

 

‘I make the fires too big,’ he mumbles as he takes the enamel pot off and divides its contents into two bowls. You catch sight of old beating marks where his sleeves falls down, faded brown and crisscrossed.

 

‘Because of you underage magic?’ You ask as you examine the porridge he has placed in front of you. ‘That’s a normal thing to do. I used to speak to snakes.’

 

There is no honey or milk on the table, so you follow Severus’ example and sprinkle salt from a small tin on the table.

 

The porridge is perfectly cooked, but none-too appetizing. Harry eats it anyways. Severus eats expeditiously, with an economy of movements and absolutely no expressions on his face.

 

‘So, Severus,’ you say when the both of you are finished. ‘Do you want to tell me a bit more about your.. household? Is this where you live?’

 

The boy nods.

 

‘You’ve made it very-  _sensible_ ,‘ you praise, biting off the word ‘comfortable’ at the last moment. ‘Does anyone else live here with you? No? Have you ever.. let anybody in before, besides me?’

 

The boy shakes his head.

 

‘Very good,’ you let your voice turn drop, affecting a solemn, more authoritative tone. ‘Are there people out there, somewhere; people that you talk to?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘You’ve never spoken to anyone before in all the years you lived here?’

 

‘No.’

 

You try another track. ‘Perhaps they do not  _speak_  to you. Perhaps they… do  _other_  things.’

 

The boy suddenly stills and makes no reply.

 

You plant both palms on the small table to ground yourself. A slow, tense rage creeps over you, crawling like ants over your gut; emotions you can scant afford to entertain. The child is already shifting uneasily; and in respond to his emotions the ceilings and corners of the room begins to turn squishy, as if it’s being melted by fire.

 

‘Severus, I know you said you don’t let people in. But does anyone come in to look for you?’

 

‘People,’ the child whispers. ‘They hurt me.’

 

‘Who?’

 

The child begins to hyperventilate. ‘The others.’

 

‘Can you tell me who the others are? The girl; you called her something-‘

 

‘No!’

 

‘Who is the Red Queen?’ you asked.

 

‘Harmless,’ the child Severus waved a negligent hand, ‘and the least of your worries. It is the Dark Lord-‘

 

Your heart lurches as you round up on him. ‘ _What_  did you just say?’

 

‘The Dark Lor-‘

 

‘Harmless. And the least of your worries,’ you seize the boy by front of his shirt and haul him up. ‘ _Where did you hear that?’_

 

‘Let me go!’

 

‘You’re not Severus,’ you growl. ‘What have you done with the boy?’

 

‘I  _am_  him!’ the boy howled as his legs kicked the air. ‘Re- read your paper!’

 

‘What paper?’ you scowl, and drop the child to search your pockets. ‘You better not run away.’

 

The scroll had a new message:

 

**_The child will protect you._ **

 

Frustrated, you scribble a reply; ‘ ** _Can’t find anything. Need help_** **’**  and stuff the note back into your pocket. The boy has started crying, so you envelop him into your arms.

 

‘Severus, this is your mind. Not the Red Queen, nor the Dark Lord. All the power of the realm is contained within your imagination.’

 

‘..am just a pawn,’ he whispers into your robe. ‘Am  _nobody.’_

 

‘You’re not nobody to me,’ you hold the child close and strokes the jagged hair, certain that that Snape must have been his own hairstylist as a child. ‘In fact you’re so important that while I’m in here with you, there are whole teams of people working outside. Trying to save you. You’re very important to us, Severus. And you’re very, very important to me.’

 

Gently you pull away from him. ‘Do you trust me?’

 

The boy nods, his dark eyes glistening.

 

‘Good, because I’m  _really_  going to need your help to stay alive.’

 

*

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**Heart of Darkness**

by Lucius Complex

 

 

 

5

 

 

For all your eloquence, you are not a teacher, and do not succeed in convincing the child of the doormat powers within him. The boy has made his own home safe, but outside of this the ground beneath your feet is liable to turn into quicksand (and did) the moment you step beyond the threshold . If nothing else, it makes you cognizant of how dangerous the strange universe before you really is, and how much Severus wants to protect you, even if the boy himself does not realize it.

 

Frustrated, you constantly fish out the parchment in your pocket, but no new messages arrive. You note that the material is slowly becoming indistinct, the ink fading.

 

You are running out of time.

 

*

 

You finally persuade the child to take you lead you back to the hall with six corridors, where the fountain of human hearts plays it staccato song. When you arrive, it is to find the floors dry and only two corridors before you. The staircase is gone, but the red chamber remains, suspended on the second floor with no entry point save through flight. As you gaze at the at red lights beckoning though the windows your thoughts move irresistibly to your time there, where you had in held in thrall, subject to pleasures unimagined that makes-

 

  
Severus grabs your arm and your thoughts shatter. Unknowingly, you have moved directly under the chamber’s door. Briefly you think you imagined the black staircase flashing in your pupils, there one moment and gone the next.

 

The sweat breaks out from your brow and your heart hammers erratically. You struggle against the shakiness, attempting to pay attention to your surrounds. Doubts creep up around you; litter the floor like dead bugs.

 

The fear is not irrational, not really. If your heart ends up on one of those hooks in Severus’ world of dreams, all the mediwizardry in the real world will not save you from certain death.

 

The boy looks at you. ‘Which one do we pick?’

 

‘Whatever feels right to you,’ you reassure him with a confidence you don’t feel.

 

He picks the one of the right. Just as you are about to step into the corridor you chance a look up and see a brief flash of face looking at you from the red chamber.

 

It is child Severus, his small palms on the glass and tears streaming down his cheeks.

 

You blanch, and look at the child walking beside you in the corridor. His face is obscured by a curtain of hair.

 

Something is wrong, you know.

 

‘Severus?’

  
His footsteps are small and measured, falling in perfect symetry. 

  
  
'Severus. Look at me.'

 

The turns to boy look at you.

 

His features look as if someone had erased them. They are smeared, as if with an eraser.

 

You stifle a scream and scramble backwards. The sight is simply too much. The small erased figure takes a step forward and you turn around run the opposite direction, knowing that to continue towards him was to court madness.

 

Your eyes search desperately, looking for a way out of the corridor - only it doesn’t end. It goes interminably on. You want to call for Severus, but fear has stuck your tongue to the roof of your throat. The endless tunnel stretches out before you, seeming to close in. Something whispers to you in the private spaces of your own mind: someone not you, although it whispers with your voice:  _Trapped. Lost._

 

You are trapped. You are not going to get out.

 

You break into a run. 

 

Trapped. You are trapped. You are lost.

 

The corridors flicker, make impossible spiral bends. You force yourself to run faster.

 

You are lost you are trapped trapped  _lost_

 

‘Severus!’ you shout the boy’s name repeatedly, but he doesn’t answer and your throat grows hoarse with the effort.

 

You are lost die you are going to die you are not going to get out lost you are lost you are going to die you are not going to get out you will die you will die trapped here die here madness trapped you will not get out you will not get out madness die you will die you will die die die here trapped here die forever-

 

_‘Severus!’_

 

Run, you must run.  _Run_

 

Trapped. You will die. You are trapped. You will die you are going to die trapped here no way out madness you are trapped like Severus madness die here you will never leave die you are dead

 

Your heartbeat has become painful, so painful that involuntary sobs escape from your lips. You force yourself to move, although you can no longer tell if it’s the right direction.

 

Dizzy. You die youaredead crash against the wall trappedheredieyouaredead for support.

 

Your pocket burns, and you rip out the parchment, the room spinning with dienow youwilldietrapped everybreath diesooncomingforyou die yesyouwilldie every gasp of your breath.

 

**_Wandless SELF-HEAL NOW cardiac arrest_ **

 

You would laugh at the note, were you not going mad with the Red Queen attempt to force you into inducing your own heart attack. Wandless magic in this state? The world thinks too highly of you.

 

Your clutch at your chest as it begins to seize up yesdieyouwilldie trappedmadnesstrappedhereforever- the vague formations of spells come and go, nothing you can latch on to against the whispering voice, nothing you can use against the crush of pain and hopelessness.

 

-  _hopelessness_ -

 

You suck in one last breath as your throat closes up and-  _you will die ants crawl over your eyes_

 

_Expecto Patronum!_

 

The corridor lights up in a blaze of starlight and congeals into the shape of a stag. The pain does not recede, but the crushing weight in your head lifts, enough for you to gasp for air and cast  _Vestire Medicare_  with every fiber you have left.

 

The light becomes a blast, sweeps you stumbling back, and winks out.

 

 

 

*


	6. Chapter 6

 

6

 

You raise your hand to your eyes and blink against the sun, the lawn beneath you a startling fresh green. You find yourself standing at the edge of a long table, a feast before your eyes.

 

The Red Queen reclines with indolent languor on the other end, surrounded by a charm of magpies in butler suits.

 

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she tells you, a demure smile playing against her lips. Her red eyes are painted, large and dilated like a cat. ‘Come and sit.’

 

You slowly sink into the chair which materializes behind you as the magpies approach to serve you in stilted, stately pomp. Up close you notice that all of them have pins in their eyes.

 

‘What have you done with Severus?’

 

‘I’ve missed having you around. You left me so suddenly, with nary a kiss goodbye.’

 

You see her red pupils contract and dilate as she toys with the food on the plate. Her feathered servants begin to pull open the dish covers; disgusting, rancid human hearts prepared in a variety of styles.  A number of them reveal magpie heads, freshly decapitated.

 

Her servers do not flinch.

 

Looking at her, you feel an aching desire return to your loins. Despite wearing Snape’s features the Red Queen is allure personified, ripe and lush of body with an underlying limber, flexing musculature of a snake. She wears a medieval tiara on her forehead, a red ruby in the shape of an eye. Her shoulders are bared in a dress that unfurls around her like a cluster of black irises; dark velvet folds that swallow the light. 

 

Sitting down, you steeple your fingers under your chin and say, ‘You have taken the boy. I want him back.’

 

A man with the head of a dog enters with a hatchet, grabs one of the magpies, and proceeds to severe its head. You watch him take the head away with him as the remaining birds flutter and cower in groups, wringing their gloved-tipped, human hands.

 

You notice that one of the magpies is smaller than the rest.

 

‘Why would you wish to have him, when you can have me?’ she beguiles, her eyes hooded and knowing as your gaze lingers on the lines of her throat.

 

You wet your lips and swallow, and say nothing.

 

‘With that bold hero’s soul, perhaps you would save me as well. Be my…  _champion.’_ The Red Queen touches her neck and licks her lips. ‘Perhaps you can save us all.’

 

You don’t reply for many moments because her words fill your mind with fantasies, some glorious, some sick; all of them sensual.

 

‘I know you can’t kill him,’ you say when your higher faculties finally return. ‘So you disenfranchise and invalidate him instead. You resort to crushing his self-worth, because killing the child would be tantamount to killing yourself.’

 

‘Tis true, I can’t kill him,’ the Red Queen admits ruefully, ‘but _you_  can.’

 

‘It is you whom I plan to kill.’

 

She thrills with laugher. ‘My sweet white knight. You never fail to delight me. What a fine addition you’d make to my feathered friends,’ she waves a languid hand at the flock of birds.

 

The lawn begins to darken, and you knock back your chair and back away. The clean lines of trimmed yew hedges rises up upon you, closer and higher, in perfect symmetrical lines.

 

‘But first, to deem you worthy of my flock; perhaps I should test your….  _nettles?’_

 

You glance up to see lightning sparkle across a rapidly darkening sky, and find yourself standing in a labyrinth of nettles. A glance at the hedges reveals them to be constructed of dark metallic leafs, each as sharp as a blade.

 

‘Should you survive, Harry, I am looking for a new cavalier,’ she tells you as she rises. ‘A Knighthood, shall we say in return for a child?’

 

‘Sadly I’m already taken in the champion stakes.’

 

‘You disappoint me, to think so poorly of the honor,’ the Red Queen turns away with a smile. ‘An offer I’d have made to no other. But you  _will_  serve me, Harry. After all, you have already bought me the boy.’

 

You exhale and let loose a string of colorful imprecations. The red bitch is forcing your hand.

 

You are sure she is hiding the Horcrux-

 

No. You are sure she is  _wearing_  it.

 

Your eyes light on the tiara on her forehead, the ruby encased eye sparkling within its silver confines.

 

The Red Queen’s third eye.

 

*

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

7

 

You break into a run.

 

For the first ten minutes you keep to the hedge on your right, banking on the age-old solution of finding an exit by tracking though the length of one wall. Then you remember it is Snape’s mind, and you are currently playing against his most vindictive side; perhaps more.

 

Perhaps you are playing against the Dark Lord himself; there is no way to tell. In any case, it would be foolish to expect an even playing field.

 

After that you pick random corridors at will. It would be up to you to stay alive until the boy finds you, or his alter ego tires of her game.

 

Somehow you doubt that she will be so merciful.

 

After a while you begin to notice that the nettles are creeping interminably closer with every turn. The hedge-lined paths remains straight and narrow, but you distinctly remember having had more space look around. This realization makes you falter, and then ground to a halt to take better stock of your surroundings. They hedges _were_ indeed, closing in on you. Method of death: sliced into ribbons by a hedge of iron nettles that you have no hope of climbing. Glory be.

 

Shrugging, you start moving again. With any luck this would be _all the_ surprise that the Red Queen had in store for you, because you doubt your mental capacity to deal with a Minotaur or a Sphinx at present. Trying to answer a riddle under this sort of duress would crack you up, just before it kills you.

 

The skyline rapidly darkens before you, briefly lighted by spider-veins of lightning. An omnious reminder that time did not belong to him here.  

 

‘Aw great. Couldn’t you have given me an hourglass instead?’ You crane your neck searching the twilight sky, hoping that somewhere, Severus would have a way to know that you’re mere moments from being sliced into chop suet.

 

‘Severus?’

 

Nothing.

 

It was _his_ bloody mind. Surely he wouldn’t let you _die_ here; it would cause such a terrible mess.

 

A whirling sound catches your attention; faint, but too close for comfort. In fact it sounds as if it might be right beside-

 

You drop to the grown just as something springs out at you from the wall of nettles. You’re not sure what it is, but it’s fast and deadly. From the ground, you roll facing skywards just in time to watch a weapon draw back, swallowed up by the wall of nettles as if it was never there.

 

Some sort of… wavy crossbow.

 

You get up and curse, and see absolutely nothing. You feel like you are in a jack in the box or a horror story ride, one you were likely never coming out of, the way things are starting to look.

 

Once more you break into a trot.

 

The next time it happens you are prepared by the whirling sound that becomes audible a second before the mysterious weapons protrude. You feint and roll, coming up to a small crouch and immediately roll again. This time you see it - the mechanical lightness of three black snakes. The snakes strike in a row, bizarrely symmetrical, shooting tiny red darts the size of needles.

 

After that you run a lot faster. The labyrinth seems to move in concentric squares, moving you inwards rather than out.

 

The walls are narrowing. You drop again as a pair of snakes strike out, then dart up and continue running. You turn left, and turn left again, ears straining for the tell-tall sound of springs and grapples. Each time you hear it you drop and roll. This happens again and again.

 

The number of snakes doubles very time you make a turn.

 

Now each time they lash mechanically out, six pairs of dripping poisoned fangs flash at you. You roll four times, but the effort is beginning to cost you. Your body reflectively attempts to push itself up. You take some near hits when you miscalculate how many feints to make.

 

The seventh time the snakes lash out you drop to roll and only narrowing avoid certain death when your disoriented body spins you stumbling and groping the hedges for support. Your fingers and palm slice into the glistening nettles, watering it with your blood. You are disgusted to see that this seems to make the leaves grow faster, press forward a little more.

 

The path has now narrowed to the point where you can no longer run for fear of catching your arms on the razor sharp leaves, forcing you to stride with your arms crossed over your chest like a mummy. You call out to Severus, although you know it is to no avail.

 

The man will save you, or he will not. Only time will tell. You force yourself to move, keep moving - keep the thoughts of death and abandonment at bay.

 

The knives whirl closer, and ever closer. You are forced into moving in a side step, like a crab. Even then, the movement scratches your shoulders; leaves long lines of open flesh down your arms.

 

The nettles seem to vibrate as it moves closer, pressing into your flesh, as if excited by its impending meal.

 

Too soon you reache a point where it doesnt matter whether you move or not, so you stand still, making yourself as small and flat as possible, knowing the futility of your actions. A stray, quivering leaf cuts your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. You feel the blood drip down your fingers.

 

You realize you are going to die here, in Severus’ mind. Its over. You feel the palpitations in your chest shift, as if acknoledging something. 

 

Closing your eyes, you examine the feelings behind the decisions that lead you to this point in time and place, swallowed by nettles. It had been worth the risk. At least you tried-

 

A piercing cry cuts the air. You look up to see one of the magpies beating its way down, its dark iridescent wings cutting through the air.

 

The smallest one. It is Severus, you are sure. Somehow he has managed to escape the Red Queen’s enchantments.

 

When he is close enough, you grit your teeth and endure the awful lashing pain of having your arms sliced open by numerous knifes as you raise them towards your rescuer. You feel his talons grip your wrist-

The magpie beats its frantic wings and try to lift you, and fails. You try not to shout, but in truth you probably screamed in frustration.

 

The child thinks you are too heavy.

 

Your vision is blurred by tears and blood. For several desperate moments you feel the breeze of the whirling blades upon your face, and hope the sight would not be too ghastly for the mediwizards. You wish you could spare Hermione the pain of putting what remains of you under the ground. You think of Severus, how perhaps death might be the best hope for pea-

 

The Red Queen whispers to you, in the deep recesses of your mind. Her voice is seductive, and promises you an end to your pain that you can almost belief. You listen to her low murmuring; her voice is an opiate, taking you away from the horror you cannot avoid.

 

The bird above you screams.

 

_Severus._

 

Suddenly you feel the air singing past you and the pain return to your arms. You look up to see yourself being lifted above the labyrinth, and somewhere within your mind you hear the echo of a woman’s enraged scream. 

 

As Severus lifts you away, you watch the labyrinth collapsing into the ground before you, swallowed up by the earth.

 

As you had suspected, the maze has no exit.

 

*

 

You find yourself back in the child’s  house. As you lay gasping on the floor, trying not to choke of the residual adrenaline and bile, the thought comes clearly to you that you cannot do this alone. Not when you are so helpless an entity in Snape’s mind.

 

You crawl on your hands and knees towards Severus, uncaring of the blood streaking blood up the carpet. You can barely see straight; the shock of still being alive has relinquished all but the most prerequisite of motor skills.

 

The boy lies on a bed of molted feathers, human once more and huddled into a fetus curl, naked and sobbing.

 

You find yourself steeling your heart, before yanking him forward by the arms and violently shaking him.

 

‘Snap out of it.’

 

If anything, the boy’s sobbing increases.

 

‘You can banish these monsters. You have the power.’

 

‘I can’t,’ he sobs. ‘They get me, they get me they get me.’

 

‘You are the queen’s equal,’ you shout back. ‘This is _your_ mind too!’

‘I cannot!’

‘ _Listen to me_. I can’t do a damn thing for you here if you don try-‘

‘Why not!’ the boy screams hysterically. ‘Why not! Are you here to rescue me or _not!’_

‘I am here to help you rescue _yourself_!’

The boy seemed to calm down at last, though he still looks you through large, tear-stained eyes.

 

You bend down to kiss the tiny, quivering forehead. ‘She’s the Red Queen, but you are the White _King_ , do you understand? You are the White King, and we will help you regain your throne and overthrow her.’

 

‘Who will you be?’

 

Despite your fury and grieve and everything you've been through, you find yourself grinning down at him. ‘Why, your white knight, of course. What else?’

 

*

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

8

 

The next morning, you come into the kitchenette to greet the child, only to find an older boy in his place; though not by much. This is the Severus of your earthbound memories; the ones you’ve seen in Snape’s head during your Legilimen classes.

 

He looks less hostile than you’d expected a Severus that age to behave however, so you place the boy as somewhere between his third and forth year, before the events of the Shreiking Shack has had a chance to sour him.

 

You are pleased by this new development; it can only mean the boy- young man  now, really, must be ready to take on more responsibilities.

 

After breakfast you both sit in the living room, Severus staring at you from behind his curtain of hair with his eyebrows raised and his arms defensively crossed. Waiting for you to start.

 

You lifted your hands. ‘As you can see, I have no power whatsoever in your mind. Should you turn the air in this room into poison, I would immediately asphyxiate, in here as well as the mortal world.’

 

The young man considers this. ‘I could kill you with a thought.’

 

‘Yes.’

 

 _You’ve already tried so several times_ is something you don’t bother to add.

 

‘Why did you come here?’

 

You stay silent for a moment before answering. ‘After the war, we took your body to St Mungos. You were badly injured by Nagini, but the damage was not… insurmountable. Yet you never resurfaced from dreamless sleep. A few of us, the ones who knew about Nagini’s horcrux, had our suspicions.’

 

Severus takes a moment to digest this. ‘So this.. horcrux thing is attempting to take over my mind.’

 

‘Perhaps,’ you say. ‘We have no real way of knowing from above, hence my presence here.’

 

You observe the teenager mulling all this over, and gently say, ‘I’ve watched you most of my life, Severus, and it’s not like you to give up so easily. Whatever the situation, you always found a way to survive. I didn’t come down because I wanted to vanquish Voldemort again. Truth be told, if the Dementors got to you, the Dark Lord is dead anyways. I came down to see _you_. To make sure that _this_ , whatever this is – is what you want.’

 

‘If I’m going to die either way, what does it matter?’

 

‘There is every chance of you surviving in the real world. Legal battles take _years_ to conclude. For the present, your poor health and my political influence preclude you from Azkaban, and once we release your memories at trail...’ you shake your head. ‘I have no doubts of you walking from all this, a free man.’

 

‘ _If_ you do kill the Red Queen,’ Severus says with a great deal of skepticism as you raise an eyebrow, ‘what will happen to me?’

 

‘Freedom of choice for starters. You may choose to wake up from Dreamless Sleep. Or you may choose to.. stay, and perhaps make some different… living arrangements,’ you break into a smile at the boy’s tumultuous, disbelieving expression. ‘The world – well, _this_ world anyways, is your oyster. It is up to you to make of it what you will. But first, you have to understand and accept that we are truly in your mind, and such being the case; it is you who have the power to stop what is happening now.’

 

The boy looks as his own hands, pale emancipated digits and dirty fingernails. His voice has a quaver when he speaks

 

‘I don’t know how.’

 

‘I’ll teach you. I imagine it’d be something like getting to know your own innate magic all over again.’

 

Severus looks at you, black eyes glinting from behind a curtain of dark hair. ‘Why are you doing this? We were never friends.’

 

You hesitate at his choice of words, and choose your own carefully.

 

‘You’ve spent a great many years teaching me to fight the Dark Lord,’ you tell the wary youth. ‘It’s only fair that I attempt to return the favor.’

 

‘In that case,’ Severus folds his hands and announces with stiff formality; ‘I would like for you to be my teacher.’

 

You can’t help it; you throw back your head and laugh at the prospect of being tutor to Severus Snape.

 

*


	9. Chapter 9

 

9

 

You do not have a Room of Requirement, but then, the house pretty much functions as one for Snape. It’s a pity the boy does not believe you though. After the fifth failed attempt to convince the boy to create a space suitable for mock battle, you finally give up and spend an afternoon pushing the furniture away from the living room. Perhaps the boy would be more amenable after he sees for himself what he could achieve.

 

Figuring that transfiguration is the best place to start, you place a toothbrush in front of him.

 

‘I want you to turn this into Gryffindor’s sword.’

 

The youth looks at you incredulously. ‘How in the world do you expect me to do that?’

 

As you stare at each other, your heart sinks as you realize the scale of the task ahead of you.

*

 

And so it begins; the hard task of persuading Severus to step up to the plate and wrestle his mind back from the Red Queen.

 

It is hard only because the boy is unwilling to acknowledge his own powers. He can protect the house and make meals appear at will, but no cajoling or argument would persuade him to admit that this is a personal power, wielded by him alone.

 

You are tired of the way he immediately gives up after each failed attempt, running upstairs to sulk for hours in his room – the doorknob of which disappears the few times you tried to open the door. He has power to do _that_ , but not to conjure a flaming sword to defend himself.

 

You want to throttle the boy for subjecting you to this idiotic charade. Frustrated, you go return downstairs to brood in the kitchen. How have you never seen this obstinate streak in Snape, his love of shrouding himself in a victim’s mantle? Was it because he never had the luxury to do so in life, and now wished to indulge in it regardless of the stakes?

 

During the resting hours in between, you draw out the note in your pocket and gaze at its ever-thinning parchment.

 

You’ve not received a note in days from the medical team looking after your body, and this bothers you more than you care to admit. Perhaps you’ve unknowingly subjected yourself to so much physical damage that there would be little point in attempting to make it back to the real world.

 

In any case, if nobody wants to tell you anything, the news must be bad indeed. You know how their mind works. 

 

By chance your peripheral vision catches a flash of black; school robes rustling as Severus walks past the landing with a book in his pale hands.

 

Your eyes rest on his gaunt frame, the hollow of his cheeks. If this- this _adventure,_ is turning out to be the last few days of your life, perhaps you should confront the man, tell him how you’ve always-

 

Exhausted, you close your eyes. He is still so young. So very young You cannot tarnish this innocence, what little of it you see; what little that had been preserved, even under artifice.

 

Unable to watch him any longer, you look away. At least you know now how Severus as an adult must have felt when he looked upon you over all this years.

 

Helpless. Frustrated. Weighed down by bitter irony.

 

Restlessly you prowled the small room, taking in the peeling wallpapers and sagging furniture. Were things to make a turn for the worse at this juncture, as seems increasingly likely; could you truly leave, never telling him why you really came? Would you be able to relinquish all at the point of death and not regret this... silence?

 

Gently your fingers caress the empty note in your hand, its fiber flaking onto your robes. You don’t regret your decision to come down here. _Never._

 

But you wonder if you will live long enough to meet again the Severus of your dreams.

 

*

Miraculously, things changed for the better only when you finally you persuade him to let you ‘accidently’ recover your wand. If you didn’t know better you would almost think that the boy had read your thoughts that desolate afternoon.

 

After it became a matter of choosing between his pride, and choosing to protect himself against your offensive magic. You are thankful the boy’s head is still screwed on right in this aspect, at least.

Finally, some results.

Things remain lukewarm until you reach that point finally one vigorous, unremarkable morning where you hurtle a bookcase at him with a flick of your wand. Without thinking, Severus raises a hand and stops it in mid-air, and your eyes meet in the living room with shelf hovering between you both. To your every lasting relief, you see at last the acknowledgement and understanding in his eyes.

From that day on, his willingness to absorb and proactive participation raises your spirits considerably.

Every successful attempt of Severus to block, disarm or defeat you leaves him standing a little taller, making better, more creative decisions.  You praise him unconditionally, and after the first few days of suspiciously scowling at you whenever you say anything remotely agreeable, the young man slowly begins to accept your encouragements and allow it to affect him, sometimes with a flush of pleasure on his face that warms you.

 

His words to you too, have become more insolent, and whilst you frown at him on the outside you crow internally to finally see the appearance of this sharp-edged Severus, with his sly mind and his smile like a curved knife.

 

You can only hope that it will be enough.  

 

*

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

10

 

 

Although you are pleased it is Severus who first suggests that it might be time to venture out again, you catch his arm just before he walks through the door.

 

‘Remember that if it gets too much, you have the power to let us leave.’

 

‘You don’t have to be such a downer,’ he sniffs. ‘Especially since you claim I can control your magic.’

 

‘I’m glad you know that now, but you don’t have to make this hard for yourself.’

 

He stares at you with the bold sullenness of the adolescent animal. ‘What do you mean?’

 

You wonder how to phrase your warnings without making the boy seem delusional.

 

‘Whatever we encounter out there, remember the scale and… difficultly is within your control.’

 

‘I already told you, I don’t _know_ what’s out there,’ Severus defends hotly. ‘And I didn’t create it, no matter what you say. I’m not mad.’

 

‘I never said you were.’

 

He stalks past you, hair swinging. ‘Perhaps it is you who is delusional.’

 

The air outside is warm and dark. The ground you walk on soon gives way the sense of solid earth you are accustomed to and becomes sandy, dune-like. A sense of endless floating encompasses you, a feeling similar to being out at sea.

 

In the distance you hear the laughing howl of several hyenas. 

 

‘A desert,’ the boy looks around. ‘We could be walking forever.’

 

‘Can you change the landscape if it gets out of hand?’

 

Severus looks uncertainly at you whilst clearly struggling to hide his fear. ‘I shall try.’

 

He looks at your clothes and you feel their weight change, lengthen and drape around you to protect you from the sand.

 

‘Thank you.’

 

The boy’s mouth is covered now, so he merely nods and continues walking. You try not to smile at how much Severus resembles a Bedouin, with his black headscarf and smoky, deep set eyes – perhaps he had a secret romance with the culture harbored in that his youthful mind.

 

Should you both survive, this is knowledge you intend to take ruthless advantage of.

 

The sand dunes lead you up a hillock. Is it a vigorous climb, since for every step you take it seems you slid down four. The sand is like fine powder, filling your mouth and nostrils with a dry, burning scent despite the scarf over your face. Severus is more agile than you, a solitary black fringe whipping against his face. His eyes are slitted against the sandy wind.

 

The sight that overlooks the top of the hill takes both your breath – what’s left of it- away.

 

 _‘Fuck_ ,’ the boy whispers with feeling.

 

You glance askance at him. ‘Felt like a challenge, did we?’

 

He glares at you. ‘I didn’t ask for this.’

 

Sure he didn’t. With a sigh, you settle on your stomach on the sand to survey, supporting yourself on your elbows. Severus, after a hesitant look, follows suit, and you both gaze with foreboding at the scene unfolding below. Rows upon rows of Death Eaters, their identical heights and postures taking up the horizons.

 

A murder of Death Eaters.

 

An _army._ A sea.

 

A solitary figure walked between the rows of insentient figures, clad all in black and wearing the same mask. His only distinguishing mark is a thin red sash upon his waist, upon which hung a small bottle, glistening red.

 

You are momentarily taken aback by the sight of this new figure. ‘Is this… _her?’_

The boy looks at you as if you’d lost your mind, which was ironic. ‘Can’t you see? That’s the Dark Lord. I ran away from him, and he’s been looking for me ever since. He wants to punish me. ’

 

His words did not bold well for you both. You try to recall the red stone glinting from the forehead of the Red Queen, but the memory escapes you, darting away like an illusory bird. There is something about the red bottle that tugs at you the same way, however.  

 

You turn to Severus. ‘Do you know what’s in that bottle?’

 

‘Memories,’ the youth whispers. ‘Mine.’

 

Your eyes narrow with dim satisfaction; an objective, at least.

 

‘Then it sounds like we’re going to need that bottle back.’

 

*

You are caught so fast and so easily, you wonder if Severus has a kink for incarceration.

Ab sailing down the slopes on the ropes that the boy had conjured (surely out of a surplus of Indiana Jones movies consumed during his muggle youth) You were met at the bottom of the steep drop by a phalanx of fiercely wielded scimitars and strangely intricate Death Eater masks. You are initially disturbed to find the sword of Griffindor by your side, more so by the scale of violence you find yourself employing the weapon for. Your ears fill with crashing metals and your nostrils fill with the scents of slaughter; blood and guts, but also bladders that empty upon death, the smell of metal and sweat.

The Death Eaters are ridiculously easy to kill, falling before you like a pack of cards. Bodies pile up around you, and the sand runs red.

By chance you turn to ascertain the boy’s safety, and his eyes meet yours, hawk-like and fierce. Rimmed with kohl. You find you cannot look away, so mesmerising do you find him-

Suddenly time slows down. You see Severus reaching out a hand as he cries out… instantly panicking, you try to reach him, to save him-

But it is you who falls.

_No._

You fall, in shock and pain, with a sudden sharpness that instantly jars you out of the unnatural bloodthirsty state which has gripped you. Struggling, you flail, unable to regain your balance. It takes you another minute to see it, the blade that some Arabic Death Eater has run through your stomach.

Unable to support yourself up, you lock gazes with Severus. _Heal me._ But the tide has turned, along with the boy’s confidence, and you see him struggling in captivity. Feathers sprout from his back and fingers, molt, and grow again, as if another presence was trying to take over his mind.

Pain lashed through you, gurgle in your throat as you will the boy to look at you. _Heal me._

_Heal me-_

But it is another’s presence who ends up before you, pale fingers curving against the blade’s leather handle. Robes rustle beside you, black as sin, with a red line running down its centre. ‘The child is engaged, but I shall be happy to do so,’ a silky voice whispers into your ear. ‘Despite all rudeness, you are still an honored guest.’

You scream as the sword slides out of you, glisten almost black in the moonlight as the Dark Lord holds it out to you.

‘Now rise.’

 

*


End file.
